“Whut’s that?” demanded Mr. Sisson.
“I—I only just said ‘oh,’” explained Mrs. Bugbee weakly.
“I thought so.” It was as though Mr. Sisson made a mental note of this admission to be incorporated into the testimony. “But it seems like the Government force is all full up at present. So only last week I got a commission from the county to do shadderin’ and hunt down these here Prohibition violators and I been workin’ on hidden clues ever since. I’m whut they call an independent secret operative. Ez it happens, though, you’re my first case—my first two cases I should say.
“Point is that now I’ve got you I don’t know whut to do with you. Can’t git you over to the county-seat tonight, late as ’tis and the roads the way they are. And tomorrer bein’ Christmas the judge won’t want to set to hold you fur trial. Prob’ly”—he caressed the handcuffs tentatively—“prob’ly I’ll have to keep you ez prisoners right here under guard fur the next forty-eight hours or so. Prob’ly that would be the best way. Whut do you think?”
Mr. Bugbee made a sign to Mrs. Bugbee that she should withdraw. She did so with backward apprehensive glances.
“My wife’s not trying to escape,” explained Mr. Bugbee. “She’s only going into the next room for a few minutes. She’s had a shock—in fact she’s had several shocks this evening.”
He waited until the latch clicked, then to their captor he said simply: “How much?”
“Which?”